Sweeping his Path

Recently I made a path between trees and native plants, cutting into the dry and stony summer earth, dust puffing from the spade.

I made it for love. My sweet man is twenty years older than me (or as he says, nineteen and three-quarters). For the first time, we are feeling the difference. He is coping with some age-related illnesses that walking will improve, but we live on a winding and dangerous road, not good walking, hence the path.

After another week of 40°C, it has rained, unusual here in February. The earth is moist and the air filled with birdsong: magpies, crows, the cathedral song of the shrike thrush, rosellas’ chimes, and twitters and trills from smaller birds.

Thanks Kristjaan. I let prompts take me where they will. I was thinking of a pilgrimage as an entry into new things. Ervin said to the doctor the other day that he don’t know what to expect about getting old because he’s “never been old before.” This prompt reminded me of that.